


Double, Double

by YellowDistress



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Collapsed lung, Hurt Peter Parker, Oneshot, Peter Parker Whump, Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Stabbing, Tony Stark Has A Heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-13
Updated: 2018-10-13
Packaged: 2019-08-01 08:15:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16280888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YellowDistress/pseuds/YellowDistress
Summary: Peter had thought it was turning out to be a productive Halloween.Until he caught the 'Freddy and Jason' wannabes stealing a car.





	Double, Double

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys!!  
> Gosh how I miss you all.  
> So, I decided to write this little piece in honor of Halloween coming up. Just a bit of something, I felt like it was a nice theme to go with. It's not really a part of Whumptober I suppose since I won't be doing thirty-one days, but I still wanted to share. I love you guys and miss you all so, so much. School is going fine, but I sure do miss writing. ❤

Peter – at some point in his relatively boring life that had turned interesting about a year ago – had loved Halloween.

 

There had been years where he and Uncle Ben would dress in matching outfits ranging from Star Wars characters to various Avengers. Some Halloweens Aunt May had to work a night shift, so it was left up to his uncle to take on the festivities alone. He always delivered. Always. Peter had been so giddy on the Halloweens like that, because even though he’d wished Aunt May could be with them, he also got to eat as much candy as he wanted to on those night because Uncle Ben didn’t have the backbone to make him stop.

 

Then Uncle Ben had died.

 

Halloween had become a little less fun after that.

 

That first Halloween, his aunt had made sure to take off work. Peter was thirteen, probably too old for Halloween. But Ned insisted they still dress up and his aunt hadn’t been opposed to pretending her nephew wasn’t as grown up as he pretended to be. That Halloween, that he had thought would be the most painful of his life, had been the most bountiful. He had gotten more candy than he had in all of his years of trick-or-treating.

 

Peter thought, that was the universe’s way of making amends.

 

But then Peter got bitten. Became Spider-Man. Started patrolling. And that Halloween when he was still in the onesie had been a nightmare. Freaks – not the good kind – came out on Halloween. Peter had always been oblivious to all the crime _that_ night of the year had to offer a place like Queens, but he had gotten kicked in the crotch twice and hit in the head with a bat. That was hard to explain to Aunt May, who thought he was with Ned, and to Ned who thought he was sick with the flu.

 

The second Halloween of being Spider-Man rolled around. And Peter had dreaded it slightly, but probably wouldn’t admit that a part of him was incredibly excited to test out a busy night with Karen. Sure, he and Karen had survived some pretty intense nights together, but Halloween was a whole new adventure. A whole new ball-field. Aunt May had to work until morning at the hospital, so he could ignore his curfew. Peter had felt bad for not going out to get candy with Ned, but MJ had taken his place for the night, so at least he knew his best friend wouldn’t be spending it alone.

 

Besides. People needed him. People _needed_ Spider-Man.

 

The first several hours were spent breaking up drunken-costume-party-fights. Peter’s personal favorite that he had jumped into was a man dressed as Obi-Wan beating someone with a plastic lightsaber. Screaming at the top of his lungs about him kissing his girlfriend or something and Peter had to try not to laugh, because he really felt bad for the guy.

 

Peter kept the lightsaber and hid it somewhere to go back for. It was top notch and Ned would love it. Besides, the drunk guy had thrown it at Peter’s head when he had broken up the altercation, so Peter thought – in technicality – it was his now.

 

Spider-Man also helped a drunk woman find her Uber and stopped some bullies from stealing a boy’s bag of candies. Peter pacified them by forcing handfuls of yellow starbursts, hitting them in the noses so many times they couldn’t stop blinking and stalked away angrily. Peter didn’t hate yellow starbursts and the boy let him keep the extra ones.

 

All in all, Peter felt like it had been a relatively productive night.

 

Until Dummy-One and Dummy-Two came along.

 

They were trying to steal a car wearing Freddy and Jason masks. Peter really…he laughed. He _cackled_ before he jumped down into the alley and he did so even harder when he was standing in front of the startled pair who whirled to look at the newest figure in their midst.

 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Peter held his abdomen trying to catch his breath as the two watched him get a hold of his laughing fit, “It’s just…aren’t you guys like enemies? Didn’t he decapitate you at one point? And now you’re working together to steal a _car_? _What_?” 

 

And sure, it wasn’t a movie. But sometimes it felt like it.

 

The guy dressed as Jason pulled out a switch blade. Peter tilted his head to the side and questioned, using his best old man voice, “Is this 1956? I haven’t seen one of those in ages…”

 

‘Jason’ lunged at him and Peter realized neither of them had really replied to his jokes, which was always kind of a letdown. Peter side stepped him easily, grabbing his wrist that was holding the knife before slinging the man’s entire body weight around and sent him head first into the front bumper of the car. The guy grunted, falling over limply as the knife clattered into the pavement and ‘Freddy’ sent a punch towards Peter’s masked head.

 

Peter kicked outward, hitting Freddy in the gut. He jolted back, slamming into the brick wall and Peter didn’t hesitate to send out his webbing, restraining Freddy against it. Peter poked out his lower lip under the mask in a sort of pout, standing over the man as he sighed, “Well…I thought that’d take longer. I gotta say, I expected more out of two of the most iconic slasher villains in history.”

 

And then and then and then…Peter spoke too soon.

 

It came out of nowhere. His sense spiked and he felt the similar rush of cold water on his spine, but by the time he whirled around, the blade was already being shoved under his ribcage. Jason had apparently regained consciousness while Peter’s back was turned and the sharp pain that erupted in Peter’s chest took him by surprise, though it dulled with shock almost immediately. Peter lashed out, punching Jason in the jaw, causing him to crumble up and release the blade. Peter didn’t think – wrong move – and just yanked the tiny metal thing out without a second thought, dropping it.

 

“Ow,” Peter snapped, webbing the guy’s ankles and hands to the ground, “ _Ouch_ , dude, ow what the fu-“

 

Peter gasped a bit, trying to catch his breath. For such a small knife, it sure did burn. Peter shot upward once both the men were securely webbed and made his way onto the roof of the adjoining building. Peter stumbled, lights sort of blurring and he wondered how he was already dizzy and short of breath if his hand was only slightly warm with blood.

 

“Peter,” Karen’s voice stated, “You’ve been stabbed.”

 

Peter scoffed, “Yeah, I’ve come to that conclusion as well.”

 

He swallowed thickly, mouth feeling heavy as he lifted his hand from the bleeding wound. He was still struggling to breathe as he studied the tear in the dim lighting. He was definitely bleeding through the suit, and it looked as if the guy had gotten him right under the ribs. Peter blinked several times, pressing his hand over the oozing wound before leaning his head back into the concrete behind his head.

 

He had been stabbed before, but he didn’t think it had ever been this hard to think afterward. Peter stared up at the light polluted sky and tried to focus on bringing air into his lungs, but it just wasn’t working out. There was a long beat of silence, Peter’s heart racing, before Karen finally spoke again, “Peter, my scanners are indicating you’re in respiratory distress.”

 

“I feel that.”

 

“I believe you’re experiencing symptoms of a pneumothorax,” Karen replied.

 

Peter couldn’t formulate much, “English, please.”

 

“A collapsed lung, Peter,” Karen elaborated, “The blade punctured your chest cavity.”

 

Peter nodded. _Oh_ , so that was why it felt like someone was squeezing him too tightly. Peter shifted ever so slightly and ignored the sharp stabbing pain that increased with said movement. His head lulled and it felt like he was emerging over and over again from being under water for too long, doused in a mild panic of not being able to fill his lungs to full capacity.

 

“Contacting Tony Stark.”

 

“What?” Peter gasped, then cringed at the pain of his sudden movement, “W-What? _No_ – Karen don’t. Override!”

 

“Peter, my protocol-“

 

“Karen,” Peter whined, falling back again, shaking his head back and forth, “He’s probably busy and at a party and…I – I’m good Karen. I can move anytime I feel like it. Don’t call him.”

 

It wasn’t like Peter was _mad_ at Tony or anything. Things were fine. Even after he had turned down the chance to be an Avenger, it was okay, but Peter had plans to _eventually_ be an Avenger. And if he was going to get to that point one day, he couldn’t have Karen contacting Tony every time he got a little stabbed. It was all out of proportion. He was fine. Lungs collapsed all the time, at least Peter thought so.

 

He wiggled a little bit, using the concrete edge to lift himself up to his feet. His breathing was ragged as he continued to hold his side – shit – for such a tiny cut it was causing a lot of problems for him. Peter focused hard on putting one foot in front of the other, but typically humans needed oxygen for that and his other lung was just not being sufficient enough apparently. Peter climbed onto the ledge, reaching out to shoot his web to the adjoining building on the other side of the alleyway.

 

Peter fired, and it stuck, so he wasn’t really sure why he started plummeting.

 

_Oh shit – goin’ down._

He hit the concrete with a sharp _thwack_ beside the unconscious bodies of Freddy and Jason. Peter’s forehead snapped on the concrete and he felt the world whirl. Peter groaned blinking blearily as Karen’s voice was speaking but he could only hear a few words including “concussion” and “bleeding”.

 

And he was. Blood from his forehead began to seep into the mask and Peter was blinded when it dripped into his eyes, but he couldn’t just _rip_ his mask off. People wouldn’t be stupid enough to believe it was just a costume, so Peter just laid there. Stabbed and concussed while children laughed distantly down the street, no idea.

 

“Contacting Tony Stark.”

 

Peter opened his mouth to argue, but no words would come out. He was drowning, it felt like he was under water. He couldn’t get air in. There was the sound of ringing inside the bloody mask and then a familiar voice answered gruffly _, “Listen kid, if you’re calling to ask if you can bring that Ned friend of yours trick-or-treating to the compound, forget about it.”_

There were voices in the background and Peter berated himself…Tony must have _actually_ been at a rich people party or something.

 

Peter tried to speak again, but once more, his chest wouldn’t draw in air. His voice cracked pitifully – it was all just stupidly dramatic to him – but even so, panic was there. It was never right to not be able to breathe. It felt like the pressure of that building again and the blood from his forehead was making it impossible to even see the light polluted sky anymore. Like being under rubble. Or a lake, with that parachute.

 

Maybe Tony couldn’t hear the choking because he sighed from the other end.

 

_“Is this one of those Halloween prank calls? Shakin’ in my boots, kid.”_

“No,” Peter managed to grit out, trying to blink the blood out of his vision, “I-I can’t…Mr. Stark…”

 

He couldn’t get past the nothingness of air. Sharp and stabbing and just there.

 

The way he spoke and the struggle in his words must have startled Tony, because the man was quick to respond, all annoyance gone from his tone, _“What’s wrong?”_

Peter groaned, pushing himself to his side to try to alleviate some of his pain, “I can’t… _breathe_.”

 

 _“You can’t breathe?”_ Tony must have been moving, because the other sounds disappeared on the phone and it sounded like Tony was talking louder and with more urgency _, “Why can’t you breathe?”_

Peter opened his mouth, but again, nothing escaped. Luckily, Karen must have grown tired of Peter struggling – if AIs could grow tired – and she interrupted _,_ “Peter’s right lung has collapsed after being stabbed by a slasher character. Which caused him to fall off a four-story building.”

 

Peter nodded his head as if to reaffirm this, but Tony couldn’t see him, so it was kind of stupid he supposed. Tony replied as Peter’s head started to slip back into the swimming pool _, “On my way. Got your location, kid, hang in there.”_

His body relaxed at the thought of someone coming, just so he wouldn’t have to lay beside Freddy and Jason, blinded by his own blood, for much longer. His eyes moved rapidly around nothing, nothing, nothing, then a lot. The laughter of the children disappeared, and Peter didn’t know what to know or think what to do think. He just tried to focus on air going in and out of his chest, but it felt like an icepick being dug under his ribs and he just wanted to go somewhere. He wanted Aunt May or Ned. To eat so much chocolate he vomited.

 

Peter wanted to be anywhere but there.

 

The car was a piece of shit anyway. Wasn’t worth getting stabbed.

 

Peter wasn’t sure when he slipped off, but when he was yanked back into reality, someone was pulling his mask off his face. He jolted, reached, and threw out a punch. A scream escaped as pain shot through his chest, and he hadn’t even realized it was him screaming until whoever had removed his mask grabbed his wrist tightly and started saying his name _too loud._

“Peter! Peter stop, stop moving, _listen_ to me.”

 

Peter opened his eyes, but felt the crust of his dried blood making it difficult as he looked up to see that the Iron Man mask was retracted and Tony’s face was there, surrounded by metal. He was frowning down at Peter and Peter suddenly felt very ashamed of the pain induced tears. Peter blinked them away quickly.

 

“Breathe. Right now. Take in a breath. Stop holding it.”

 

Peter tried, but ground out, “It’s hurts t-to…”

 

_It hurts to breathe, Mr. Stark._

“I know, but the Compound is too far for you to hold your breath the whole way.”

 

“N-no,” Peter whimpered, shaking his head back and forth, “To-o fa-ar…Fix it… _here_.”

 

Tony grimaced at him, “Sorry, but I’m not exactly medically inclined. I’ve got a doctor at the Compound already waiting for us though, so we gotta go meet her.”

 

Peter could have cried. He looked over to where Jason was webbed up. He glared without even realizing it and Tony looked back at the unconscious mask. He then returned his attention to Peter and questioned, “Was it him?”

 

Peter nodded mutely and Tony looked back, hesitated, then ended up not moving. Peter wondered what the movement was. Wondered what he was going to do. But he ended up frowning and just turning his back on Jason completely before beginning to shift Peter. Peter groaned and wiggled, shaking his head back and forth as he shoved at Tony’s hands. Every movement felt like someone was knocking the breath out of him while simultaneously shoving a pencil into his flesh.

 

Tony ordered, “We have to go. I have to move you.”

 

Peter wished he could speak. Could yell. But he could only move just a fraction, his hands pushing and pushing, but Tony easily overpowered him. Peter croaked, “I _can’t…”_

“I know,” Tony said, “I know, it hurts. But we gotta get you up.”

 

And with that he was being lifted. Peter grit his teeth together and didn’t allow himself to shout. He just held on as they took off and it felt like his lungs were never going to draw in air again. As if his head was going to explode off his shoulders.

 

He had really liked Halloween at one point in his life.

 

The flight to the Compound was miserable, until Peter started losing consciousness, but Tony just kept telling he had to stay awake. Peter really didn’t want to. He just wanted to go to sleep and wake up when he wasn’t dying. Disembody and all that. He felt familiar with pain, but it didn’t make him enjoy it. It didn’t make him numb. He wanted it to stop. The October air was too cold for his liking. Or maybe it was November now. He didn’t know if it had struck midnight quite yet.

 

But _then and then and then_ they were landing at the Compound. Peter was brought in out of the cold, but he didn’t get any warmer, and then Peter decided it wasn’t good that he felt so cold in his skin. Tony laid him on a table that wasn’t even close to being soft, the metal sending him into shivers, but he was shivering before so…

 

“His lips are blue.”

 

There was a woman there. She was pretty, but Peter didn’t know her name as she was moving things above him. Then two other people Peter didn’t know either. Tony was still there too, and Peter looked at him with wide eyes as everyone began to cut at his suit. Peter raised his hands and started trying to stop them as Peter gasped through the pain of moving, “S-Stop…my-“

 

“I’ll fix it,” Tony interrupted, stepping forward, “Let them help you.”

 

Peter blinked a few times before lowering his hands and the people continued on exposing him. Peter tried breathing deeply, but he still couldn’t and when the pretty woman that he guessed now was a doctor approached his bare chest with a giant needle in her hand, Peter had a bit more trouble following that order. He looked at Tony again, confused and – Peter would never admit it – terrified of what she was about to do.

 

“Peter,” She spoke softly, “My name is Doctor Cho. You’ve got a collapsed lung, so I’m going to need to insert a needle so relieve the pressure in your chest, do you understand?”

 

Peter could still feel the dried blood on his face making it difficult to blink. But he did, several times, computing what she was saying before he opened his mouth and argued, “B-B-But…”

 

It just wasn’t fair. It was Halloween. He should be at home with Ned or acting like an annoying teenager and trick-or-treating. Something other than having a needle shoved into his chest like a science experiment. Peter pushed upward, gasping loudly at the pain, but he started to sit up and they were pushing him down. But he just kept shaking his head – pounding, skull swelling – head. No one was listening though. No one was thinking about what he wanted and what he _didn’t_ want was to get stabbed for the second time that night.

 

Peter yanked at his wrist when one of the strangers grabbed at him and he reared back as if to hit them, but Tony gripped the wrist tightly instead and Peter was _not_ going to hit Tony. Someone put their hands on both side of his abdomen and started pushing him downward, but Peter only looked at Tony with wide-pleading eyes before trying to beg, “D…Don’t…Mr. Stark don’t let…them.”

 

“You gotta lay down,” Tony’s face was impossible to read sometimes, and right now was one of those times. His mouth was straight, in a thin line, like he hated to be the bad guy or something. Like he didn’t particularly want to make Peter do anything, but for some reason this was a must. Peter didn’t want it to be a must though. It wasn’t fair.

 

Peter shook his head, “No, no, no…”

 

“Listen to me,” Tony’s voice was harsh, and Peter didn’t get it…Why he was talking like that. Why he sounded like he had that day the ferry boat had nearly sank.

 

“You have to lay down and let Doctor Cho _help_ you. Or you could die, do you get that? Do you understand me? You get how this is serious?”

 

Peter’s breaths were erratic, “Y…Yes I k- _know._ I can-n’t _breathe_ …”

 

_Of course it’s serious. Of course. I’m freaking out. Get away. Get away._

But then they all pulled at once. All four of them worked together to push him down. Tony’s hands gripped both of Peter’s arms tightly and Peter watched as Doctor Cho appeared above him and then the needle and then… _Sharp_. Like a sting and Peter cried out. His head jolted and hit the back of the metal table. His lower lip trembled, but, as if the pain had never been there…Immediate…there was air.

 

Peter gasped. Bringing it in. It still hurt, but not so much anymore and it didn’t feel as tight in his chest.

 

He relaxed slightly against the table and blinked hard up at the ceiling. His heart stopped racing. Things almost calmed to a dull crawl and Peter didn’t feel so much like he was going to leave anymore. He just was to lay there. Despite the cold. Despite being half-naked in front of the people he didn’t know and Tony, he just wanted to be still for a little while. Grab a hold of the whirling and movement.

 

Tony’s hand flattened on Peter’s forehead and Peter blinked.

 

“That hurt…”

 

Tony grimaced. He looked sorry and that was a rare sight for Tony Stark. Even Peter, blinded in hero worship, knew that. The people he didn’t know and Doctor Cho were still moving. Peter felt something prick his arm and a warmness washed over him and he wondered why they couldn’t have done that forever ago.

 

Peter’s eyes closed, and nothingness filled that void with ‘Jason’ and ‘Freddy’.

 

Screw those guys.

 

…

 

The kid was resilient.

 

Tony sometimes forgot that, whenever he looked at Peter. Because Peter was still so young. He was still a child and one doesn’t look at a child and assume they can stop a car with their bare hands. And despite Tony not having a naturally placed paternal bone in his body, it was still instinctual to protect the kid. To feel responsible for him.

 

Hell…Tony felt responsible.

 

If he was being completely honest, he had been somewhat annoyed at the phone call when it first came in. He and Pepper had gone to a company party, something Tony was getting much too old for, especially ones that were centered around something like Halloween. But they had gone. And Tony had been reminded of simpler times. Times before armor and battles, and cities that fell on top of people.

 

But then Peter. And the alley. Finding the kid, with dried blood all of his face, a gash on his forehead, and a stab wound on his chest. All in all, it wasn’t how he imagined his Halloween to go. Peter may not have imagined the same thing and Tony was just proven to that the kid was better over and over again. Because instead of going to some party, Peter had been patrolling. Saving people.

 

Getting himself _stabbed_.

 

Tony didn’t know who he was mad at. Technically, the kid hadn’t been breaking any rules. But he was still pissed off and had the mind to go back and find the asshole in the Jason mask and tear him apart before turning on the Freddy-guy. But he didn’t. Tony remained where he was, beside Peter’s bed, where the kid was sedated and sleeping heavily. He’d have to call May soon, he knew, but he wanted to wait for Peter to wake up before he did so. Just so the kid would have some kind of warning, or maybe let him call May himself so she wouldn’t be so worried and Tony could avoid an earful.

 

Peter looked much younger in his sleep and Tony just kept thinking someone that young wasn’t supposed to have been stabbed.

 

And Tony had just…held him down. Pretty much told him to suck it up. He had never been good with helping people through tough situations. Helping people through pain. And he hadn’t known how to help Peter, but to make the kid be still long enough for Cho to save him. So he had forced him down and the look on the kid’s face was almost like betrayal.

 

Tony scratched his face.

 

He had thought Halloween of ’94 had been bad.

 

There was the slightest bit of movement from the mattress and Tony looked down, rubbing his eyes as he fought off sleep. It wasn’t really even Halloween anymore as the kid’s eyes blinked open to stare at him. His forehead was bruised, the gash held together by a few stitches. They had changed him into a hospital gown and put an oxygen mask over his face. Cho said with his healing factor, he’d be back up and running in no time. But right now the kid looked awful.

 

Still, at least the blue tint had left his face.

 

The kid stayed sunken into the pillow behind him for a while, just looking at Tony as if trying to figure him out. When his hand raised to the oxygen mask, Tony only tried once to stop him, but he kid ignored him and removed it.

 

“Hey kid,” Tony greeted, “Welcome back.”

 

Peter’s throat bobbed as he swallowed thickly and rasped, “Hey.”

 

The child’s brown eyes scanned the room, as if trying to remember where he was. When he looked back at Tony, he muttered, “…lung?”

 

“Better,” Tony answered, “Doctor Cho got you all put back together, Humpty-Dumpty. Try not to stand on the edge of a building while you’re rapidly losing your oxygen supply again.”

 

Peter’s mouth upturned in the slightest. But he looked a bit too out of it to laugh, which made sense with the amount of sedatives they pumped into him in order to fight his metabolism. His eyes were sluggish, and movements were burdened. Peter asked, “Does Aunt May know I’m here?”

 

“I was thinking we’d let you get well enough to call yourself,” Tony answered, “Just so she doesn’t worry too much.”

 

Peter’s stare was knowing. Knowing that Tony also didn’t want to call himself. Something that Tony could respect about the kid was his ability to see through Tony sometimes and still stick around. To see Tony’s true nature and find something admirable about it. Tony would never understand it. It was a chaotic innocence that made him feel guilty sometimes for not living up to Peter’s expectations of a hero.

 

“I’m really sorry.”

 

Tony’s head snapped in the kid’s direction. Peter’s eyes were barely open, and Tony glanced around as if looking for something, “What?”

 

“I’m sorry,” Peter repeated, and maybe Tony shouldn’t have asked because it really seemed to be sucking the life out of the kid, “For getting stabbed. Ruining your Halloween.”

 

Tony scoffed, “Kid, I haven’t exactly gone trick-or-treating in recent years. So, what you ruined were some really good martinis and an afternoon with Pepper. Maybe say sorry to her, but I don’t need your – as usual – overly-guilt laden apology.”

 

Peter really did smile this time, “Habit.”

 

“They die hard,” Tony shrugged, “Hence why I probably had a few too many martinis. Irrelevant though. Rest, so we can call Aunt Hottie and I can get my scolding over with. I feel like I’m carrying around a dark cloud waiting for what she has to say to me.”

 

Peter hummed, maybe not really hearing the whole thing as his eyes closed all the way. He relaxed back into the plush of the pillow, face going lax once more as if he had never woken up. Tony shifted, putting the oxygen mask back over Peter’s mouth and nose before patting the kid’s arm lightly.

 

Tony had never really liked Halloween at any point in his life.

 

Then Peter had come along.

 

He didn’t mind the kid so much. But Halloween could _still_ fuck off.


End file.
